


Didn't Make It Playin' By The Rules

by jaxxOnasty



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, as close to canon as i feel like, i'll add tags as i go if i need to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8183158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaxxOnasty/pseuds/jaxxOnasty
Summary: Dribble drabbles for my headcanons for these two.





	1. 2 Scrambled Eggs

“Why are we awake right now?” Bucky asked, rubbing his face against the marble counter top as if it was his pillow. Tony was slumped next to him, having just snatched his own head back up from the counter.

He answered with a question of his own, “Why is Sam singing Jill Scott? And the same lines over and over.” Bloodshot brown eyes looked Steve’s way and the blond, who had woken up a few hours before for his regular Saturday morning run, considered it.

He could easily open his mouth and explain that Sam was just a nice guy who was used to getting up early and liked to make breakfast, but he didn’t. He could also just remind his friends that had they not spent the entire night before testing out Tony’s new repulsors by jumping off the top of skyscrapers, they wouldn’t be so tired, but he didn’t. Maybe he could just explain that Sam was in a good mood, but he wouldn’t.

Because then Bucky would want to know _why_ Sam was in such a good mood and _how_ Steve knew about it. And then Steve would have to explain that he _might_ have pulled Sam away from watching the two morons jump off the roof last night. And he _might_ have taken him inside, to his bedroom. He _might_ have spread Sam’s clothes around the room a little bit before spreading the man across his bed.

And _maybe_ he ran his mouth a little bit as each piece of clothing hit the floor - ran it up and down Sam’s body, over smooth skin and firm muscles. And _maybe_ his hands followed all the places he pressed hot words into; the dip of Sam’s navel, the crook of his elbow, the caverns of his collarbones. And maybe, just _maybe_ , Steve got the idea that Sam was in a good mood this morning because he had been so sweet last night what with the way he fell into a fit of giggles when Steve’s lips tickled up the insides of his thighs and the way the giggles gave way to a moan that dropped out when Steve sucked marks into the same places.

He didn’t want to be presumptuous, but he’d been following and trusting his gut for years now, so Steve was pretty confident that maybe his fingertips had something to do with the mood - Sam had no qualms about telling him how good - “So fucking good!” - they felt sinking into him the night before. Neither did he hesitate in telling Steve where to put his mouth. Or his dick.

And Steve, in avoiding presumptions, didn’t really get into the habit of rolling his hips and grinding Sam into the bed until Sam (and his good mood) demanded, “Take it. Yes! Take it!”

But maybe Sam’s good mood was just in being able to sing and swing his ass back and forth - something he wasn’t really able to do last night when Steve gripped him there, admiring the way it looked, firm and round in his hands, even when Sam was flat on his stomach with his face pressed into a pillow…

“MADE HIM SOME BREAKFAST!” Sam crowed, his voice bringing Steve out of his head enough that he could shrug at Tony, who was beginning to look at him a little suspiciously. “ _TOAST!_ ”


	2. Irreplaceable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time Sam gets mad at Steve, he plays Beyonce.

Every time Sam gets mad at Steve, he plays Beyonce.

Most of the time, Sam’s in the mood for Al Green, Marvin Gaye, Miles Davis. “All those good jawns,” Rhodey calls them whenever he stops by and glances through all the old records he and Sam have already spent hours glancing through.

Steve has been noticing a trend in the past few months: drink the rest of the orange juice - Beyonce. Forget to set a wet umbrella on the designated wet umbrella mat - Beyonce. Orchestrate the destruction of an offgrid Hydra base with Natasha and Buck, then end up MIA for two weeks - Beyonce. The Lemonade album.

But when Sam is the maddest, when they’re screaming in each other’s faces, when Sam’s momma is called, when his feelings are hurt and Steve tongue tastes like regret, when Steve knows to just beeline straight to the couch at night and Sam gets quiet and sad and then quiet and furious, Sam plays “Irreplaceable.”

There’s something about that “to the left, to the left” that hits a little too close to home for the both of them.

Steve knows all the words to that fucking song.


	3. Memorial Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memorial Day is hard.

Memorial Day is hard.

Used to be hard back when Sam was only doing VA work, but now with the Avenging and all that entailed in the mix, he almost yearned for the days of retelling his own story to a room of hungover servicemen.

He stood ramrod straight, the steel in his spine nothing more than wanting to honor the uniform he wore. And what a uniform it was, polished and pristine enough to keep up with Steve’s vintage dress greens

“His name was Riley,” Sam finally said, gloved hands curled along the edges of either side of the podium. He knew that there were others in the crowd, with stories just like his. With losses just like his. With nightmares just like his. But he had to make sure that, as much as his story wasn’t new or special or the only one, that everyone in this room that had a story like his and Riley’s knew that they weren’t alone.  “He was my friend.”

But people were looking to him; he was no longer just Sam from the VA who’d bring in cookies every blue moon and would keep his grandmama’s recipe close to his chest - now he was the Falcon. And the Falcon wasn’t just a serviceman, no that was like saying Steve was just a captain or Rhodes was just a colonel. He had an action figure for fuck’s sake and if he didn’t emphasize with Steve’s story of doing his Captain Fake-Smile routine in the barracks before, he certainly did now. He was used to every eye in the room being on him; he was handsome and loud. But now he wanted to crawl into himself, not he wanted to deflate his chest and crawl home and whisper loud enough for this room of heroes to know that he was nobody in the scheme of things. He was just Sam.

And he missed his friend, too.

So that’s what he told them.

And they stood and they clapped and several heroes came up to him and thanked him and he thanked them back.

And Memorial Day still never did get any easier.


End file.
